


Die With the Sun, Live Like the Moon

by S0lstice



Series: Whumptober 2019 [10]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alt Prompt: Broken Voice, Alt Prompt: Embrace, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, As Cap would say: Language!, Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I can’t read it but for some reason I can sometimes write it, Irondad, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Violence, Vomiting, Whumptober 2019, prompt: adrenaline, spiderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22855291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S0lstice/pseuds/S0lstice
Summary: Tony had only ever had one nightmare about his Ironman suit turning against him. Even then it had technically been his father in the suit, not the suit itself. Talking down to him. Ridiculing him. Telling him he wasn’t worthy of even wearing it. Fairly typical as far as nightmares go for someone with daddy issues. So when he heard his Mark 47 suit power up on its own behind him in the garage late one afternoon, there was a split second in which he assumed he was simply having another odd insecurity-fueled dream.-------Or-------Someone hacks into and gains control of one of Tony's suits, and for the first time he regrets putting a tracker in Peter's suit.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Whumptober 2019 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1502207
Comments: 197
Kudos: 538





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This particular fic is my child, please be kind to her. <3
> 
> Oh, and Tony bought back the tower and still uses it because of reasons.

Tony had only ever had one nightmare about his Ironman suit turning against him. Even then it had technically been his father in the suit, not the suit itself. Talking down to him. Ridiculing him. Telling him he wasn’t worthy of even wearing it. Fairly typical as far as nightmares go for someone with daddy issues. 

Of his many nightmares, that particular one (while upsetting at the time), had not weighed on him for long. It was an imagined event, simply a result of his own deep seated fears and self-doubts. Not to mention that with all the safeguards Tony had in place, the idea of anyone being able to turn on one of his suits without his knowledge and consent was inconceivable. Laughable, even.

So when he heard his Mark 47 suit power up on its own behind him in the garage late one afternoon, there was a split second in which he assumed he was simply having another odd insecurity-fueled dream. But by the time he dropped his tools and turned around, his brain had re-calibrated and informed him that, as surreal and implausible as it might be to see the suit’s glowing blue eyes flicker on by themselves, he was not, in fact, dreaming. 

_“Whoa,_ whoa, whoa. Friday? What’s happening?” He called as the suit took a slow step out of its containment stand. 

“There is a foreign presence in my programming, Boss,” the AI was quick to respond. “It’s blocking me from accessing that suit. Someone or something seems to be manipulating it remotely.”

“What?!” The armor took another step and Tony shifted backward. “That’s not possible. I made that thing impossible to hack into.”

“I’m attempting to regain control.” 

The suit turned to stare at him and Tony reached behind him, fingers wrapping around a heavy piece of pipe. A ludicrous defense, really, if the suit decided to blow him away. He heard a little mechanical whirring as Dum-E rolled up next to him and wondered if the loyal robot planned to defend him with its fire extinguisher. 

But to his bewilderment, the Ironman suit simply raised a hand and bent its fingers a few times in a small wave before powering up its thrusters. 

“Shut it down, Fri!” He yelled as the armor rose off the floor and angled itself toward the large windows. 

“I’m trying, Boss, but there is a firewall I can’t get past!”

The suit blasted off and Tony chased it a few steps in disbelief before slowing back to a stop as it crashed through one of the windows and sent glass shards scattering across the floor. The sun glinted orange off the retreating armor as it zoomed away, leaving a white trail over the buildings of New York. 

Tony stared dumbly after it and the pipe slipped from his hand, clanging loudly on the floor before rolling away. 

“What the hell just happened?” He turned to Dum-E. “Did someone just fly away with my suit?”

The robot warbled a few times, then reached down to pick up the pipe and drove away. 

“Boss, I’m having no success in regaining control of the Mark 47,” Friday said urgently. 

Tony snapped out of his daze and ran to his set up of computers, sliding into one of the chairs and pulling up everything he had on his armor. He briefly considered going after it in one of his other suits but it was too risky. If this person was smart enough to access one suit then he had to assume they had the ability to do the same with the others and it was far too dangerous to step inside one. He didn’t feel like delivering himself to anyone today. 

But he would be damned if he let his tech fly right into the hands of an enemy who could reverse-engineer it and use it for evil. 

“We gotta take it down, Fri. Before it gets to where it’s going. Shut it down or shoot it down.”

Even as he spoke, he began to see how restricted he and Friday had become. He could see the armor’s schematics but couldn’t access its operating system or any of its features. 

“Boss... I was just given access to the suit’s camera feed.”

“Bring it up!” 

It was on his largest screen before he even finished speaking. Watching his suit fly through the city made his blood curdle.

Then a string of text began to type itself across the bottom of his screen. 

[Hi Tony. You seem upset.]

Tony froze, gaze locked on the words as they continued to type across the screen. 

[You’ve been reluctant to share your brilliant toys in the past so I thought it best to help myself.]

Tony cleared his throat in an attempt to gather himself and then let out a chuckle. “Let me guess, you’re HAL? You gonna go all ‘I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that’ on me?”

[Still using humor to mask your nerves I see. For now let’s just say that I’m someone who has a bone to pick with you and could make much better use of your tech than you. As for how I’m doing this, I have a very talented friend assisting me.]

Tony watched through the suit’s eyes as it navigated the skyscrapers of the city. The low hanging sun reflected off of every window the suit passed and created deep shadows over the streets. He shifted to one of his smaller screens, ready to call in a drone strike, but found himself blocked from that system as well. He put his head in his hands briefly before slapping his palms back to the tabletop. 

“You realize I’m going to see exactly where you’re taking it, right? I’m going to see who you are and where you are.”

[Not quite. We will be shutting down the visual feed long before that.]

“Then why are you showing me this? Trying to prove something? Gloating? Is that it? This is how you get your rocks off?”

[Again, not quite. There is a stop to make first.]

Tony saw a blinking red dot light up on the suit’s map overlay. “Friday, what is that?”

“It appears to be a construction site, Boss. Partially built, multi-level warehouse not currently being worked on.”

“Where?”

“Queens.”

[Queens.]

A pit formed in Tony's stomach at the word but he forced himself to remain detached and logical. “Why there?”

He got no response and had no choice but to wait and watch as the suit drew closer to its destination, drumming his fingers forcefully on the glass tabletop. He knew Friday hadn’t stopping working and wouldn’t stop until she broke through whatever firewall was keeping him out of his own operating system but he still had to suppress the urge to tell the AI to go faster. 

The construction site came into view, awash with the pinkish orange glow of the sunset, and his heart rate began to pick up in anticipation. The details came into focus the closer the rogue suit got - piles of industrial piping, metal framework, slabs of concrete. 

Then, at the corner of the rooftop, a small figure in bright red and blue. 

Fear hit Tony like a punch to the chest and he rose to his feet, chair clattering on its wheels as it rolled away. 

[Thank you for installing a tracker in his suit. He was so easy to find.]

Tony shook his head. “No. Nope. Whatever is going on here, he has nothing to do with it.”

[On the contrary. He has a great deal to do with it.]

Peter looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun as the suit came into range. His legs were dangling over the side of the roof and his mask lay on the concrete next to him. A take-out box of tacos rested on his lap but as soon as he saw Ironman he put them off to the side and scrambled to his feet. The suit landed nearby and Peter trotted up to it, face lit with a smile. 

“Oh wow, hey Mr. Stark!”

Tony leaned forward onto the table, gripping the edges to keep his hands steady. “Friday. Call his cell phone.” 

“Got it.”

“What are you doing here?” Peter continued, Bambi-brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “Do you want a taco? I have four. I usually eat all four, but that’s okay, we can split them if you want. They’re from that food truck that sometimes sets up on 19th street. Have you ever been there?”

“I didn’t come here for that,” the suit answered. “I came here to talk.”

The suit answered. 

In Tony’s voice. 

“Okay, how- how the _hell-“_ Tony sputtered in disbelief. 

[We have access to every function of your suit, including its recordings. Every word you’ve ever said in this armor has been entered into a voice replication program. Very convincing, don’t you think? I speak, but it’s you he hears. Let’s see how well I can remember your arrogant inflections.]

Tony watched helplessly as Peter nodded at him on the screen. 

“Oh okay, that’s okay,” the teenager replied. “What do you want to talk about? Is there a mission? Do you need help with something? I can help.”

Wherever Peter’s cell phone was, it was clearly not in hearing range. Either that or he heard it but didn’t want to interrupt ‘Tony’ to check on it. 

[He really looks up to you, doesn’t he? This will be fun.]

The armor closed a hand and reared back. Time seemed to slow as Peter looked at the fist and then back, big eyes slightly confused but no less trusting. 

“Don’t-!” Tony shouted, but the metal fist was already moving, snapping forward like a piston to strike Peter hard across the cheek. The force of the blow sent the boy tumbling to the ground and for a moment he stayed there on his hands and knees while Tony’s heart thundered wildly in his chest. 

  
Peter sat back and stared at the ground in shock, touching his fingers to his cheek. It had been cut open on the armor’s gauntlet and was beginning to bleed. 

“What the _fuck_ did you do that for?!” Tony demanded.

[You see, Tony, I’m not the only one looking for a little revenge along the way. My talented friend here is as well, but it’s not you he has his sights set on.]

“I was hoping for so much more from you.” Tony heard his own voice projected out of the suit.

Peter looked up right into the camera and the utter hurt and betrayal on his face made Tony feel sick. “W-what? I don’t- I don’t understand, what did I do?”

“Why don’t you tell me? Why don’t you tell me what you’ve done to deserve that suit you’re wearing?”

Peter shook his head wordlessly, eyebrows raised and pulled together. 

“I made that suit for you because I thought you had potential.” The armor started toward him again. “Because I expected you to improve. How long ago was that now?”

“I don’t know, I- I can’t remember-“ 

“Long enough for anyone with half an ounce of talent to show improvement.”

Peter pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, then touched his cheek again and gaped when he saw the blood that came away on his fingers. He backpedaled to keep the distance between himself and the suit as it advanced on him and Tony had an uncomfortable flashback to the day of the ferry incident, when he had been so angry at Peter that the boy had actually backed away from him in fear. He never wanted Peter to be afraid of him, not like that.

“Friday, how’s it coming, doll?” Tony ground out with forced calm. 

“Working on it, Boss.”

“But what have you really accomplished since I gave you that suit? Huh?” The armor bit out and Tony had to admit that whoever was voicing it really did do a good impression of him. Even down to the way the suit moved and it’s mannerisms. Whoever was behind this was clearly someone who’d known him quite well. 

“I’m sorry sir, I thought that I was doing okay.” Peter’s voice wavered and cracked and his cheeks flushed a soft red. “You said I was doing good, I didn’t know...”

“I said you were doing good hoping it would push you to _actually do good_. But I’m done waiting and done pretending.”

“No... wait, no! I can do better, Mr. Stark!” His gloved hands pressed together in a pleading gesture but he continued to back up, nearing a massive stack of industrial steel beams. “Please give me another chance, sir, I'm just- I’m trying to learn, I promise I am!”

“I’ve already given you more chances than you deserve. _Stop moving!”_

Peter startled at the volume of the sharp command and then shifted nervously, eyes growing wider and wider as the suit stalked closer to him. 

  
“Don’t stop, kid,” Tony whispered, eyes transfixed on the screen. He felt like he was watching a horror movie, yelling for a character to run away, and was equally powerless to affect the outcome. But this wasn’t some random actor, this was Peter. Peter, innocent fifteen year old Peter who tried his hardest in everything he did, who gave more of himself than any other reasonable human would be able to. Who was too young to drive but had already experienced more pain and hardship than most people did in their entire lifetime. 

  
Peter, who, in less than a year, had made for himself a permanent home in Tony's heart without him even realizing it. He often wondered when that happened. Perhaps it happened when he invited Peter to see his personal lab for the first time. The pure joy and awe on Peter's face as he explored made his heart flip-flop in a way he didn't know it could. Or perhaps it happened slowly, over the course of the countless earnest "daily report" voicemails Happy forwarded to him that he would smile over in the evenings. 

  
But a part of him suspected it began far before that, when he sat on a rumpled twin bed for the first time and listened to the soul of a young boy whose ears were just a little too big for his head and whose heart was a lot too big for this world.

  
The suit came to a halt directly in front of Peter and there was a beat of silence before it spoke, its voice - _Tony's_ voice - dropping low. 

  
"You've been nothing but a disappointment."

  
Peter’s expression immediately began to crumble and it took Tony's heart along with it. The boy quickly glanced down and cleared his throat to compose himself but he couldn’t hide the shine of tears that were gathering in his eyes when he lifted his head again. 

[I can’t believe how easy it is to break him down. He must really like you.]

“Okay fine, you’ve hurt him, you’ve done it! Now leave him alone and fly the fuck off,” Tony snapped. 

[Oh, we’re not done.]

“What is your problem with him, anyway? This is a hell of a lot of effort you’ve gone to, what could he have possibly done to piss you off this bad? He’s just a kid! How do you even know about him?”

[This little spider boy ruined my talented friend’s whole career and livelihood. Sent his employer to jail. Left him with no income, on the run.]

“Then your friend's employer deserved to be there. What a shitty, petty reason.”

[It’s a win-win situation for us, really. I want to hurt you, therefore I, too, want to hurt him.]

The rogue suit grabbed Peter’s upper arm and the teenager flinched, standing stiff and breathing hard through his nose. 

“Don’t touch him,” Tony hissed, but the suit yanked Peter closer and leaned down.

“I regret _ever_ contacting you,” it growled. 

Peter’s watery gaze darted away and he swallowed hard before whispering a barely-there, “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.”

“Oh, kiddo,” Tony murmured, heart aching.

“I’m sorry,” the boy repeated. Blood continued to drip from the deep cut on his cheekbone. “I’m really trying my best.”

“Well your best clearly isn’t good enough. You’re still just a child pretending to be a grown up.”

“Okay, I get it,” Peter said, voice raising ever so slightly. An ominous gust of wind swept across the concrete roof and pushed at his curls; curls that he always tried to style back away from his forehead but could never quite keep in place for long. “I’ll leave.”

He tried to pull away but the gauntlet’s grip just tightened. 

“You’re not leaving until I say you can leave.”

Tony recognized that tone of voice. It was a tone he was all too familiar with, one he had heard too often from his own father.

“Friday, send- uh, get Happy,” he stammered, hand searching for his tablet and tinted glasses on the work table. “Get Happy here. Tell him that- just. Just tell him.”

“Got it.”

[Trust is usually such a hard thing to earn. But not with him, it seems. I bet he trusted you from day one, didn’t he? He’s not even questioning anything I say.]

“Leave him alone.”

The suit drew Peter closer. “Do you know how patient I’ve tried to be with you?” 

“Let me go.” A deep crease formed between Peter's eyebrows. His gaze remained averted. “I want to go, I don’t want to talk anymore.”

Tony sucked in a breath when the armor moved to hit him again but this time Peter blocked the incoming blow with his forearm and looked up, stunned. “Why are you hitting me again?”

In the blink of an eye, the suit released Peter’s arm only to slam a fist hard into his gut, sending him staggering back several feet, doubled over and coughing. 

“Because you’re an ungrateful brat, that’s why.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter gasped. “This can’t be you, you don’t hit people like this! You’ve never hit me before, you wouldn’t do that!”

“Atta boy, Pete,” Tony murmured, an ember of warmth blossoming in his chest.

The suit just chuckled, cold and uncaring. “You don’t know me nearly as well as you seem to think you do.”

[So his name is Pete? Peter?]

  
Coldness spread down through Tony like ice water and he dropped his head, disbelief and disgust roiling in his stomach.

“I know you well enough to know you’re a good person!” Peter exclaimed, and despite the guilt permeating Tony’s thoughts, his heart swelled again. “Something’s happened to you. It must have, you wouldn’t try to hurt me like this.”

“Oh no?” The armor countered. The condescension oozing from Tony’s own voice was nothing short of disturbing. Seeing the effect it was having on his impressionable, pure-hearted intern was even worse. “Why wouldn’t I hurt you, kid?”

Tony bristled at the use of the familiar nickname. 

“Because... because you like me,” Peter responded tentatively. 

“When did I tell you I liked you?”

Peter’s brow knit together in thought and then he cast his eyes off to the side in dismay, mouth opening and closing silently. Tony searched mentally as well but had a sinking feeling that he’d come up empty. He had told others plenty of times that he liked Peter, over and over, in fact, but had he ever actually said it to Peter himself? It was always implied, he thought, but had he said the words?

[Have you really never told him you cared about him? Not even once? Tony, Tony, Tony. I know you have difficulty expressing emotion but surely if anyone deserves the effort it would be this poor boy.]

“Shut up,” he growled, crossing his arms and leaning his weight restlessly from leg to leg. 

[He must be starved for affection and validation. He clearly adores you, and you haven’t even told him you like him?]

“But you invite me over,” Peter finally answered, but his voice shook with doubt. “You saved me when I fell in the river and came to help with the ferry and you give me advice... you help me with my suit, and-“

“I did those things because it’s the Stark name you’re representing when you wear that suit, Peter. Did you really think that I’ve been helping you for _your_ sake? Because I _like_ you?”

Peter backed up a step, hugging his midsection like he had been hit a second time as his tears finally spilled over, leaving shining trails down his cheeks. He gave a single quiet sob, then pressed the back of his hand over his mouth. He looked heartbreakingly small and young and alone.

  
Tony’s fingers dug deep into his arms where they were crossed.

[Poor Peter. He thought his hero liked him.]

“Shut up.”

[Did you notice how many times I put him down before he started to think that maybe it wasn’t you?]

“Shut up! Friday, where is Happy?”

“On his way, Boss. He’ll be here soon, I’ve informed him of the situation.”

Tony’s eyes darted to his extensive car collection on the other side of the high tech garage. He wouldn’t be able to drive and keep an eye on Peter at the same time. He had self-driving cars but that would mean putting control in Friday’s virtual hands, and that would be just as dangerous as using one of his other Ironman suits. It could too easily be taken over and crashed or be driven wherever these people wanted to take him.

He needed Happy.

His attention was brought back to the too-large, too-detailed screen by Peter’s wavering voice.

“Are you going to take the suit away again then?” he said, breath hitching. He wiped brusquely at his tears. “I s-still want to help people.”

Of course he did.

“I don’t think you get it, kid. Giving you that suit was a mistake. Wasting time on you was a mistake. _You_ were a mistake.” Tony felt a chill go down his spine at the growing malice in the suit’s voice.

“Leave him alone,” Tony warned, loud enough that it echoed through the garage. “You’ve hurt him enough. Leave him alone.”

[No. I know he means a great deal to you and clearly you mean the world to him. I don’t want to just damage that relationship, I want to destroy it. I want it to be irreparable.]

  
Tony clenched his jaw as he read. 

[And I don’t just want him hurt, I want him afraid.]

“Peter,” Tony heard himself say on the screen. “Do you know what I do with my mistakes?”

Peter let out another muffled sob and backed away, shaking his head.

“I bury them.” 

The armor raised a palm and for a split second Tony’s mind simply disconnected in an attempt to refuse what was happening. But then the horror slammed into him in full force when the suit shot off a white-hot repulsor blast directly at Peter’s chest. 

Peter's expression morphed into pure terror and he lurched to the side but was too close to get completely out of range. It hit his shoulder, knocking him off balance and scorching his suit. A second shot followed almost immediately, grazing his hip and a third caught one of his arms dead on as he tried to scramble away. 

It was the worst kind of setting for Peter to try and make an escape. He depended a great deal on using his webs to swing about and evade attacks, but they were on the highest level of the unfinished building. There were no walls for him to climb, no ceiling for him to leap onto. Just stacks of construction materials open to the sky.

The suit continued to fire in rapid succession but despite his movements being uncoordinated, haphazard, and frantic, Peter was able to avoid any more direct hits. He took the first opportunity he could to sprint away and Tony’s heart lifted briefly only to plummet again when, on the schematics on his screen, the armor’s left forearm began to blink. 

Knowing what was about to happen, Tony slammed a hand down on the tabletop, rattling his keyboard and coffee mug. “Just let him leave!” 

A grappling hook shot out from the suit’s arm and latched around Peter’s lower leg, it’s claws tearing deep into his calf muscle and then yanking him off his feet. Peter gave a sharp cry of pain as he hit the concrete and then the chain retracted, whipping him back into reach of the armor. He rolled over on the way and reared his other leg back as though ready to kick the suit in the head, but then dropped it, letting the opportunity pass. The suit took advantage, dropping a heavy knee onto Peter’s chest and punching him in the face again. 

Peter curled his arms over his head for protection as the armor hit him again and from behind them Tony could hear a muffled and distressed, “Stop! Stop, please!”

Rapid footsteps echoed through the garage and the second Happy came into view, Tony grabbed a tablet and his tinted glasses.

“Friday told me what’s happening,” Happy panted, tie only half done and shirt untucked. “What do you need from me?“

“Fastest car, Hap. Get me to Peter.”

In less than a minute they were tearing out of the garage into the city. Tony brought the video feed back up in his glasses but the first thing he saw was a fist slamming into Peter’s nose and he jerked from the shock of seeing it first person. He took the glasses off with shaky hands and opened it on the tablet instead. 

A metal hand was wrapped around Peter’s neck and it lifted him into the air only to slam him back down into the ground, cracking the concrete under him. Peter let out a harsh grunt upon impact, eyes screwing shut in pain.

“Hap, break any and all traffic laws you need to to get us there,” Tony called, heart in his throat as the suit lifted his protégé and slammed him violently down a second time. The dent in the concrete deepened and Peter’s grip on the suit’s arm went slack, his eyes briefly unfocusing in a daze. “As long as it won’t hurt anyone other than us, do anything you have to do.”

His answer was a swerve of the car, horns honking, and then a sharp bump as Happy cut a corner over the sidewalk. 

Peter’s eyes came rapidly back into focus as the hand around his neck began to squeeze and he grabbed at it to try to keep it from crushing his throat. His entire right shoulder and arm were scorched and sizzling from the repulsor blasts. Large chunks of his suit were gone, revealing severely burned skin, angry and red and oozing. Blood leaked from his nose. 

“You’re... not... Mr. Stark,” Peter managed to choke out, finally getting a good enough grip to start to peel the metal fingers away from his neck.

“No? How do I know your name, then, Pete?”

The crushing guilt that Tony had pushed to the back of his mind flooded back as doubt filled Peter’s red and watery eyes again. 

“You said you believed in me,” he whispered, his voice broken in despair yet somehow, even now, harboring a tiny tendril of desperate hope. Pleading for Tony’s forgiveness, for a change of his mind. For anything. 

“I did believe in you.” The suit engaged the thrusters on its arm and overpowered Peter's super strength to get its metal hand latched around his neck again. “I was wrong.”

Tony watched the last vestiges of hope fade from the youthful brown eyes that used to look at him with nothing but trust and wonder, and felt something inside of him crack. 

“Can you still hear me?” He said lowly. 

[Of course.]

“I want you to know something,” he continued, struggling to keep his voice steady as Peter began to squirm under the new pressure of the gauntlet. “There is nowhere on this planet or off of it that you can go where I won’t find you and make you regret being born. And I don’t mean sending you to jail. You have no-“

He cut himself short in surprise when Peter unexpectedly let go of the suit’s fingers, taking the full brunt of the thruster-powered hand on his neck as he reached above his head and shot webs at something off-screen. He yanked hard and not a second later the camera view jerked as something heavy and metal impacted the armor with a clang. 

  
The suit had barely righted itself when Peter shot off another set of webs and pulled hard. The armor rocked again with another hit. The hand almost lost its grip. One or two more blows might dislodge the suit altogether. 

[Oh, he’s fighting back.]

_That’s it, bud._ Tony felt a little thrill of hope when Peter shot toward something off to his side this time and yanked again. Not for the first time, he marveled at how fast the teenager could be. This time, however, the armor raised its free hand and blasted whatever was flying toward it. Dust and debris flew across the camera feed as what looked to have been a giant spool of industrial wire cabling broke apart.

Peter didn’t look ready to give up, but it seemed whoever was controlling the suit was done playing around. When Peter aimed his webshooters again it snatched both of his wrists. The second his neck was free, Peter sucked in a ragged breath and Tony could see the angry reddish-purple marks left behind on his skin.

  
The visual made his heart ache, but it was when the armor began to squeeze Peter’s wrists that his heart threatened to stop altogether. The webshooters that Peter and Tony had worked together to improve so many times cracked under steel fingers, pieces dropping onto the spider emblem on Peter's chest like bits of meaningless junk.

But even when the webshooters had broken away completely, the hands didn't stop squeezing; like unrelenting vices being screwed ever tighter. Peter's eyes grew wide in sudden realization and he began to struggle with extra vigor, fists clenched, yanking hard from side to side in desperate attempts to roll away. The camera feed rocked slightly but Tony could hear the suit's thrusters engaging, compensating for Peter's strength to keep him down.

  
"Please, please, don't!" Peter begged, rapidly shaking his head. "Please-!"

  
Tony's gut clenched in dread. _"Stop-!"_

  
_Crunch._

  
Peter's head flew back to hit the concrete under him and he screamed, an ear-splitting, horrid sound. One of his arms jerked and his fingers spasmed and then went lax. 

The sound of the car engine and road traffic surrounding Tony faded to a dull ringing and a sickening sensation rolled in his stomach and crawled just under his skin.

The sun was touching the horizon. Passing vehicles began to flick their headlights on and the screen in Tony's hands suddenly felt too bright in the dim interior of the car. Somewhere in the periphery of his awareness he heard Happy speaking urgently to someone on the phone. 

Half of Peter's face was cast in shadow, the other half lit in a coral glow. The dying sun sparkled over the wetness on his cheeks; tears and blood. Endless, mindless pleading streamed out of the teenager as the suit lifted his other wrist.

_Crack._

Another scream filled the interior of the car. Raw and guttural, carving into Tony's heart like a knife into a tree trunk. He flinched and briefly closed his eyes to block out the sight of Peter writhing and hitting his head back against the concrete again.

Happy met his eyes for a split second in the rear-view mirror, face white and momentarily silent in shock before stuttering back into his conversation through the phone.

Peter's scream cut off into what could only be described as a combination of erratic panting and sobbing. Then suddenly he was screaming again but this time it was forceful, animalistic, and his tear-filled eyes became angry and desperate. The camera feed rocked hard as he thrashed, kneeing and kicking wildly at the suit and - with what could only be pain-fueled adrenaline - overcame the power of the thrusters and broke the armor's hold on him, flinging it far over his head. 

Tony's heart leapt to his throat when he remembered the grappling hook still in Peter's leg and as if on cue he heard another rough and anguished cry. The suit righted itself in the air and looked down, where Peter was dragging himself to his feet. He ran for the large stack of steel beams, limping heavily and trailing blood behind him from several deep gashes in his calf.

Tony felt his mind begin to disconnect again when the armor's schematics began to blink once more. 

This time two blue disks shot out, racing toward Peter's ankles - the cuffs he had used on Cap in Siberia. The cuffs he had designed specifically to contain people with enhanced strength. Steve was only able to break out of them because he had his vibranium shield, but Peter had no such thing. Just two broken wrists and a hobbled leg.

_"Just let him fucking leave!"_ Tony shouted, and Happy jumped in the driver's seat, nearly dropping his phone and swerving slightly in the road. "You're going to kill him!"

[We'd like to get close.]

Peter must have sensed them coming. When they were just yards away he leapt into a spiraling flip in the air and they missed his ankles. But they didn't miss him altogether. His flip was messy, his center of gravity way off, and while he got his ankles out of the way, one of his wrists swung down right into their path. One of the cuffs flew past him but the other clamped around his left wrist. He landed awkwardly on his bad leg and then rolled and tumbled until his body hit the metal beams and came to rest in a cloud of dust. The cuff, designed and intended to magnetize with its twin, snapped instead to the steel beam he lay against with an audible clang. 

The suit aimed both palms down at the vulnerable teenager and began to fire. 

_It's just another nightmare. That’s all this is,_ Tony thought with a crazed sort of desperation as a cold sweat broke out over his body. Lightheadedness made his vision waver but still he saw, too clearly, Peter huddle into a little ball against the beam he was now stuck to, shoulders shaking and crying in terror as repulsor blasts exploded around him. 

It took only a few seconds for Tony to recognize that the suit wasn't aiming for Peter, it was aiming for the concrete around him. The roof began to split and fracture, and soon big chunks were falling away. The giant beam shifted as one end of it began to slide backward, and Peter was pulled unwillingly with it. 

Then the ground cracked under his feet and the entire level caved inward. Plumes of gray dust and debris billowed upward into the light of the setting sun as the gaping hole swallowed everything above it. The heavy beams fell into the darkness, yanking Peter down with them, and the last thing Tony saw was a pair of red boots disappearing before the camera feed stuttered and went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope anyone still reading this remembers what happened in the first chapter! It might need a review or quick skim before reading this one! It's been a frustrating few months in many ways, including trying to write this. I hope everyone has been doing as well as can be expected! 
> 
> Thank you Seekrest for the pre-read, advice, and reassurances!
> 
> Also, I added a new tag/trigger warning! Check just to be safe!

Peter caught one last glimpse of Tony high in the sky, suit gleaming gold in the sunset, before dust and darkness swallowed him whole.

_Help me!_ his aching heart called to the man, even knowing it was that same man who was sending him into the abyss battered and broken. 

He became another piece of falling debris, helpless to the whims of the crumbling building and sure that each second was going to be his last. The loud crack and grind of massive chunks of concrete slamming into each other surrounded him, but in the gloomy dust he could see nothing but chaotic movement and shadows. 

He expected his terrifying, uncontrolled descent to end with him hitting the ground, where he would be crushed upon impact. Instead, it ended in mid-air - abruptly, and accompanied by a ripping, blinding pain in his shoulder and already-broken wrist as the steel beam he was locked to caught on a wall and his arm was wrenched violently over his head. He screamed and clawed at his shoulder, wildly and irrationally believing that it was going to tear off. 

But it didn’t, and the collapsing building chose that floor to settle upon. The sound of debris crashing around him began to quiet but Peter barely noticed. He kicked and pointed his toes, searching frantically for the floor or a piece of debris to stand on, but his feet found nothing but empty space. 

Each breath was a heaving, rib-rattling gasp - an attempt to stay conscious, to cling to some sort of sanity amidst the all-encompassing pain that demanded his full attention and then some. Thick, gritty dust coated the inside of his mouth and flew into his lungs. He coughed, groaning as it jostled his arm, and the aching muscles of his abused throat began to close up. Tightening, choking, like the metal glove was still there. Unrelenting and merciless, squeezing the very life from him as he stared pleadingly into the glow of cold, uncaring blue eyes. 

His next cough was closer to a forceful sob, tears trickling from his eyes and blurring his vision as he looked up to the Stark Industries cuff. He had to pull himself up there. His stomach seized at the thought but survival instinct overrode it, and after just a few seconds to gather resolve, he held his breath and yanked himself up by his broken wrist. He almost didn’t make it - vision going dark and vertigo making the world tilt around him - but he managed to hook his other forearm over the lip of the beam. 

He stayed there for a moment, reveling in the relief of pressure on his wrist and trying to swallow without coughing. His eyes struggled to adjust to the dim interior of whatever room he’d fallen into. He had to keep moving. He had to get down, and then he had to find a means of escape. 

_There are none._

There was a wall within reach. To his left, it was cracked and barely standing under the weight of the beam that held Peter aloft. He tightened his grip as best he could and then sent a solid kick into one of the larger cracks. It crunched under his boot, the crack spreading and deepening. He kicked it again. The impacts radiated up his leg as he kept kicking, growing increasingly desperate as the muscles in his arm weakened. 

Finally the upper half of the wall ruptured and crumbled, the beam dropping another five feet on that side. Peter’s feet touched the ground and he immediately fell to his knees, huddling under his one free arm as debris that had been shaken loose above him came sliding and clattering down. 

Something sharp scraped across the knuckles of his trapped fist. Something weighty broke over his shoulder, knocking him down further. Then something big and flat and _heavy_ tipped over against his back and began to force him down. Dread flooded both his mind and body at the sickeningly familiar sensation and he twisted away with a panicked gasp, squeezing out from under the section of wall in barely enough time for it to slam down onto the floor next to him in a plume of dust. 

He stayed frozen there on his knees even after the loose debris had settled. Eyes wide, he stared at the ground where blood dripped from his nose and mouth as frightening memories of his last experience with a collapsing warehouse flashed unbidden through his mind. He urged himself to move, to get up, to get out. But he knew in his gut that he had reached the bars of his cage and could go no further. Without looking up, he tugged on the handcuff above him - as though after surviving that fall it would now break open for him simply because he was silently begging it to. As expected, it did nothing for him but send sharp pain shooting through his wrist. 

_Of course it’s not going to break. It was made by Tony._

His heart lurched at the reminder. He sucked in a sharp and shuddering breath. 

Next step. He had to take the next step. Take stock of his injuries, assess his new situation, and quickly. He tried to focus on his body. It was past the point of needing to collapse completely, but his arm was still stretched above him and it was all he could do to stay on his knees. Every inch of him was in pain - stabbing and slicing here, pulsing in time with his heartbeat there. It was a struggle just to think, but still he tried to separate and identify the worst of it.

Both wrists: broken. Right calf: torn open and bleeding. Right arm and shoulder: badly burned.

_By Tony._

Left shoulder: badly strained now, likely torn muscles. Nose: possibly broken. Bruises, scrapes, and lesser burns too numerous to catalog. Neck… 

He paused to swallow again, throat burning, and couldn’t help but stretch his neck to try and dispel the feeling of constriction that had never left. The feeling of a hand wrapped around it, squeezing tighter and tighter, thrusters engaging to add five times the force and pressure. Cutting off his air, trying to snap his neck. 

Trying to kill him. 

Tony tried to kill him. _Tony_. 

A sudden onslaught of nausea sent him bending forward and he wrapped his arm over his stomach, trying to breathe slowly and steadily to quell the sick feeling. Cold sweat broke out over his skin as the grief he had been barely holding at bay loomed over him and crowded close. 

It wasn’t Tony. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. He _knew_ Tony. Tony was good, Tony was selfless. He saved lives, he didn’t take them. 

_“You don’t know me nearly as well as you seem to think you do,”_ he’d said. Peter had never heard such condescension in the man’s voice before. 

But Tony had only ever protected Peter. He could be brusque with him, sure, and he got angry sometimes, but that was almost always Peter’s own fault. 

_“You’ve been nothing but a disappointment.”_

The words cut straight through him and bit deep into his heart, more painful even than his broken bones and burns. He pressed his hand over his chest, almost welcoming the screaming protest from his wrist. Anything to keep his mind away from the crushing reality that the best thing to happen to Peter since Ben’s death had apparently been an illusion. 

A small voice within him still tried valiantly - and foolishly - to deny it. 

_What about all the times he invited you over!_ it said, simply repeating the same feeble defenses he’d used on the roof. _What about the late nights in the lab! That time he took you with him to a conference in Boston!_

He tried to recall the fond glances he had caught Tony giving him when he thought Peter wasn’t looking. Sure, maybe the man had never actually said that he liked Peter, but the evidence was still there, wasn’t it? He hadn’t imagined the attention or the smiles or the good-natured pats on his shoulder. 

_He smiles at whoever he needs to smile at,_ a much darker voice said. _How many times have you seen him smile and play nice with someone he later told you he hated? If he sent you a fond look, he was sending it to the person he hoped you’d become._

Peter’s chest constricted and he closed his eyes tightly, warm tears spilling down his cheeks. That particular voice was not a new one. It had been with him always, feeding him dark thoughts in the dead of night and weighing his soul down every time he listened. Reminding him of every loss he had suffered. His parents, taken from him before he was old enough to truly understand where they had gone. All he knew was that they had left him, that they would never play with him again. They would never hug him or tell him they loved him. 

Sometimes, on those especially dark nights, he found himself wishing they had died sooner. Before he had a chance to make memories of them. People used to quote to him, ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ He couldn’t help but wonder if those people had ever actually lost someone truly precious. He wondered if they would still ascribe to that quote when they inevitably did. 

Then Ben. Ben had nearly broken him. It tore something from his soul that he knew deep down would never fully heal. The first time they visited his grave, neither he nor May could speak. May cried and Peter disconnected; numb to all thought and emotionally vacant. He held May and waited to leave. 

The second time they visited, May told him that nothing would fill the void that Ben left. That the emptiness would remain, but they could hope that with time the jagged edges of that hole would soften. Become manageable. Until they could look at their memories of him with fondness and gratitude instead of pain and grief. 

May’s steady presence was the only thing that held him together. Ned had been there for him, been as supportive as one could ask another teenager who hadn’t experienced anything similar to be. But Peter’s family had been whittled down to only he and May, and they clung to each other through the worst times. 

But even with May, the one person he had left, there had been a divide. A divide she wasn’t even aware of. All because of a single spider that changed his life into something he hadn’t asked for and for a long time didn’t want. He struggled with it alone, experienced the pain and fear of that first week alone, lying to everyone he knew. For his grief over Ben, he had May. For his frightening and confusing new reality, he had no one. 

Until Mr. Stark. From the moment they met, Tony knew Peter’s deepest secret. It was a liberating revelation, that not only did he know about it and accept Peter for it, but he was impressed by it. He approved of it. He sought Peter out because of it. A man that Peter had watched on television and read about online and in newspapers, a hero that Peter had, in his own clumsy way, tried to emulate when he snuck out at night to help people in the streets. 

It was thrilling, it was validating, it was… it was _too good to be true,_ that dark voice had whispered to him. But Peter pushed it down. He let himself be swept into the world of the Avengers, not knowing what he was doing half the time and fighting a fight he didn’t understand. But Mr. Stark, _Ironman_ , had sought him out. Ironman asked him for help, Ironman wanted him. 

And immediately Peter was attached to the man. Suddenly his efforts to help people and use his powers for good were being recognized and encouraged. From Tony and Happy, he didn’t have to hide his double life. He could talk and talk about it, as much as he wanted. Of course… whether they wanted to hear him was a different matter. 

_He dropped you as soon as he didn’t need you anymore,_ said the voice. _Not even Happy wanted to talk to you. No one picked up the phone, no one called you._

But… it was okay if Tony didn’t want to talk to him. He was a busy man with a lot more important things going on in his life than Peter Parker. What made Peter happy was the simple fact that Tony knew about him, and the possibility that someday he might ask for Peter’s help again. 

Peter worked extra hard after that and made sure to leave Happy voicemails everyday with the hope that they would filter back to Tony at some point. 

If Peter was good enough, maybe Tony would want him. 

And Tony _did_ come back. Not quite in the way Peter might have hoped - needing to drag him out of the river to save him from drowning. Not a proud moment on Peter’s part. Then the ferry - a horrible display, proving nothing but Peter’s ability to screw things up. With Tony’s disappointment ringing in his ears, he was dropped again. 

But when he took down Toomes- 

_He only came back to you for good when you finally managed to do something that wasn’t a complete embarrassment._

Things had been better after that. Tony paid more attention to him, spent more time with him. He _seemed_ to genuinely like Peter and be interested in his life. He guided him, taught him, and shared his wisdom with him (even if it was often in odd and unorthodox ways). 

_Hoping you’d turn into anything more than a failure._

It hadn’t even been a full year since meeting Tony, but the man’s presence in Peter’s life had been such a source of comfort and pride and _hope_ that Peter wasn’t sure he could live without it. The emptiness that Ben left in Peter’s heart… Tony had begun to cover it. He wasn’t a perfect puzzle piece - no one ever would be - but he was the strong, steady arm around Peter’s shoulders that he longed for. He was the man Peter looked to for help. 

A part of Peter was appalled and ridden with guilt that he was even considering the person who broke his wrists and strangled him could possibly be Tony. Tony was an Avenger. With his own eyes, Peter had watched him save the world. Several times. Not once had the man done anything to indicate he had this darker side. But then, how well did Peter actually know Tony? He knew he looked at the man through rose-colored glasses, through the bias of hero-worship. Had he blinded himself to the signs? 

Wouldn’t the rest of the team have done something, if they knew he was willing to kill to ‘bury his mistakes’? Wouldn’t Pepper? Surely they wouldn’t have allowed it to go on if they knew. 

Were they all corrupt?

  
  
  


Peter was still half-trapped in his thoughts when he became aware of a rasping noise surrounding him in the dusky room. He listened, confused, mind racing elsewhere, until he realized that the sound was _him_. His lungs, sucking in air too fast, his throat damaged and aching and trying to keep up. 

Of course it was really Tony. Of course it was. He was a fool to try and tell himself otherwise. It was the Ironman suit. It was his voice. It was his mannerisms. He knew Peter’s name. He knew _everything_. 

_Did you really think you were good enough for him? Did you really think you were special? Did you really think you deserved to have someone in your life like this?_

His breaths continued to speed up, panic creeping in and sinking its claws into him. 

He was going to die. 

He was going to die. 

Tony Stark wanted him dead, he was most likely still out there searching, and Peter was handcuffed in place with a tracker on his back. 

He couldn’t get enough air. He slapped his hand back to his chest, fingers digging into the suit, into the bruised skin underneath. No matter how fast he heaved, there just wasn’t enough oxygen. The _thump thump thump_ of his heartbeat pounded against his palm. 

Even if by some miracle he got out of the cuff and out of the suit, where could he go? Tony was one of the most powerful, wealthy, and intelligent men in the world. He couldn’t go home - Tony knew where he lived and it would endanger May. He couldn’t go to Ned’s. There was nowhere he could go that Tony couldn’t find him. 

He began to feel lightheaded. He knew in the back of his mind that he needed to try and calm down, that his panic was reaching dangerous levels - but that part of him was helpless to the fear that stabbed at his mind and broke down any feeble defenses he had left. 

Heat flushed through his body, followed quickly by icy cold, and the skin on his face began to tingle and go numb. Dust caught in his airway and he hacked and coughed, neck muscles burning. Reflexively, he brought his forearm up to cover his mouth. He instantly regretted it. 

The scent of burnt flesh rushed into his nose; his own skin, seared by his mentor’s repulsor blasts. 

His throat seized and he lurched to the side, pulling his cuffed arm until it was stretched far as it could go, then heaved and vomited on the ground. Black spots bloomed in front of him and he sucked in a breath only for his stomach to tighten and expel its contents once again. 

His head swam. He wiped his mouth on his arm and tried to push himself away from the mess, but his vision was dark and he couldn’t tell if he was moving. 

Awareness was slipping from him. He fought against it, but he couldn’t tell if his eyes were open anymore and he still couldn’t breathe. His body slowly went limp despite his efforts, fiery pain igniting in his shoulder and wrist as they took his weight again. It was the last thing he knew before darkness overtook his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I normally like to write longer chapters but this was a logical place to stop and I wanted to get something out. Next chapter we'll return to Tony and Happy, which shouldn't take nearly as long to get out if all goes well. Thank you for sticking with me! I've only gotten positive encouragements between updates, which I appreciate so much. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are loved and treasured and poured like glittery gasoline into my slow clunky car of inspiration.
> 
> Much love to you! (Yes you!) Be kind to each other, love each other, and love yourselves. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proof that muses and inspiration and moods are fickle (at least for me): last update took over two months, this one took a week. And it’s a longer chapter too, I think. Of course it might help that I’ve had this scene envisioned and playing out in my head since before I started writing the first chapter. Either way, hooray for a much faster update!!

  
  


“Tony.”

His left hand was tingling, the tips of his fingers well on their way to going numb. He dropped the blank tablet onto the floor of the car and grasped at it with his other hand, pressing his thumb into the palm of his hand to try and rub feeling back into it. 

_ “Tony.” _

Repulsor blasts exploding. Concrete breaking. Peter falling, Peter crying, red boots disappearing into the darkness. 

_ “Tony!” _

Tony lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror in a daze. 

“Talk to Friday!” Happy’s insistent gaze darted between him and the road.

It was only then that Tony realized his AI had been speaking to him. 

“I, uh… sorry, yeah go ahead,” he murmured, barely present.

“I may have found a way to shut myself down,” the AI said. “I don’t know for certain if it will have any effect on the Mark 47, but there’s a chance that -”

Louder than Friday’s voice was the memory of the crack of Peter’s wrists breaking and the horrid screams that followed, an auditory nightmare ringing ceaselessly in his ears.

His mentee might be dead. The boy who was too pure for his own good and too endearing to ignore. 

_ I was responsible for him _ , Tony thought. Darkness slithered through his insides like a living thing - heavy, accusatory, inescapable.  _ I was supposed to protect him _ . 

“- and if that’s the case then it’s certainly a viable option.” 

Tony tuned back in just as Friday finished talking. 

“I called Rhodey,” Happy immediately added, knuckles turning white as he cut off an eighteen-wheeler and received a chorus of blaring horns in response. “He was in D.C. but armored up as soon as I told him what’s happening. If he can get here fast enough he might be able to track the suit and take it down, or at least slow it down.”

Tony ran a hand over his forehead, covering his eyes as the true magnitude of their situation settled upon him. The amount of dangerous tech and pure fire power contained in that one Ironman suit, if replicated and reproduced, would pose an incredible threat not just to Tony or the Avengers, but internationally as well. It could easily arm and fund any number of terrorist cells or small armies, and the amount of sensitive information in its recordings was enough to do serious damage to both SHIELD and Stark Industries. 

If the people behind the operation were to be believed, that is. They had enough recordings to match Tony’s voice, but he wasn’t so sure they had the full access they claimed to have. They hadn’t known Peter’s name until Tony himself said it, and with the amount of times he’s said that kid’s name while in the suit, he would’ve thought it would be one of the first bits of information to surface. 

Of course, it wasn’t as though they’d had time to sift through all of it yet. He had to work under the assumption that they were telling the truth. Which meant they were possibly in the midst of one of the biggest security breaches in SHIELD history. 

“Fury,” Tony murmured into his hand. Then louder, “Fury. Call Fury.”

“Already did,” Happy responded. “He’s mobilizing a team. Rhodey’s calling Pepper from the air.”

Tony lowered his hand to look at Happy in the mirror. His friend’s fingers were tight on the wheel, his jaw set in determination. Appreciation filtered through the haze of anxiety in Tony’s mind, grateful that at least one of them was keeping his head. 

Happy glanced up to meet his eyes. “He’s gonna be okay, Tony,” he reassured, eyebrows pinched together. “You know how tough of a kid he is. We’re gonna find him.”

What state they would find him in was the real question, one that conjured no small number of gruesome images and possibilities in Tony’s head. He looked away.

“You shut yourself down and we’ll lose Peter’s tracker, Fri,” he said instead, trying to wipe the images from his mind in favor of logic and reason. 

“In theory, so would they,” the AI responded. “Though I suspect it is meaningless to them now. What they claimed their goal to be in regards to Peter has been done. They are likely focused on retreat.”

“We don’t need it, Tony,” Happy said. “I’ve already got his location and it isn’t- it hasn’t moved.” 

Tony saw Peter’s form huddled against the metal beam once more, fastened to it by Tony’s own reinforced handcuff. Wherever the boy had landed, he wasn’t going anywhere. Tony took a breath and rubbed his tightening chest, silently debating their limited options. No Friday meant they would lose any connection they had to the suit and possibly any hope of regaining control over it. But it should do the same to their enemies. It should theoretically put the suit under manual control, and with no one inside it it may simply drop out of the sky. 

“Okay. Do it.”

“Good luck, Boss.” Her voice was colored with as much sincerity as an artificial program was capable of. 

Then she went quiet. For the next several minutes the interior of the car was silent except for the occasional stream of expletives from Happy as he navigated the streets. With the speed they were going and the traffic laws they were breaking, Tony wouldn’t have been surprised if they heard police sirens behind them. But they sure as hell weren’t going to pull over if they did. 

The construction site came into view. The building looked almost normal from the outside, the tall walls and framing still standing. It was in a fairly empty district, which meant that enough space surrounded it that the only thing visible from the busy streets was the cloud of dust already dissipating above the roof. 

The sun had disappeared, the horizon glowing pale purple and orange where it used to be, and Tony knew they didn’t have much time if they wanted to find Peter before the light faded completely. Happy pulled up directly in front of what looked like an open loading dock that led into the building. 

Tony pushed out of the car before it came to a stop. Immediately a cool breeze ruffled his hair, carrying with it the smell of city smog and the ocean, and suddenly everything became real. He was no longer watching through a screen. Dirt and pebbles shifted under his feet as he ran, fear urging him to slow down, to speed up, to stop. 

He clambered up the loading dock and raced straight inside, Happy on his heels. No doors had been installed yet, making navigation relatively easy, but the sheer size of the building was daunting and it took longer than Tony would have liked to realize that the first floor hadn’t been affected by the collapse. They found stairs at the other end of the building. Another minute or so of searching down hallways told them that the second floor hadn’t been affected either. 

The moment they stepped out of the stairwell onto the third floor, however, Tony knew they would find destruction. The air was grainy, hazy with dust that irritated his eyes and dried his mouth. Sure enough, just two hallways in they started to see crumbled walls. Tall mounds of broken concrete obscured their view and Tony’s fear slowly turned to dread.

If Peter was under that… 

Happy bypassed him.

“Call for him,” Tony said in a hushed voice. His instinct was of course to call Peter’s name himself, but he knew that if the boy was awake… if he was  _ alive  _ and awake, Tony’s voice couldn’t be the first thing he heard. 

They began to pick their way through the rubble, Happy going first and calling for Peter as they went. They climbed over a pile of debris, shimmied through a small space against a wall, the light growing ever dimmer the farther they went…

Then Happy stopped in front of him and Tony’s blood ran cold at the stiffness of his friend’s posture. His heart began to pound. His hands turned clammy. He didn’t want to look, but... Peter-

He moved to push past Happy, but the other man grabbed a fistful of his shirt and held him forcefully behind him.

“Peter?” Happy called tentatively before Tony could protest, and the uncertainty in his voice was enough to turn Tony’s heart to lead.

He tore Happy’s hand away. He shoved his way past- and there, slouched over and hanging from his wrist, was Peter. All the air in Tony’s lungs rushed out and he didn’t take any more in. In the feeble bluish light that came down through the floors above them, he saw the shine of blood oozing from Peter’s leg, pooling under him. Crimson droplets were splattered on the floor in front of him. 

Happy’s cell phone light blinked on behind him. For a brief moment it lit Peter like a spotlight, like the flash of a camera, and the display made Tony feel sick. The blood, the dust, the grime, the rips in his suit, the dark bruising underneath, the severity of the burns going down his arm, the marks around his neck-

He couldn’t tell if the boy was breathing. His feet carried him forward, limbs heavy like there was sludge in his veins. 

Then he heard a rasp - barely-audible and ragged. Then a small moan.

“Pete?” Tony said softly. He couldn’t help himself. 

His heart skipped a beat when Peter moved slightly and then lifted his head. 

Tony quickly raised his hands to show him he didn’t mean any harm. “Pe-”

The panic was instantaneous. One look at Tony had Peter lurching to his feet in a mad scramble to get away, yanking on his arm when it stopped him short as though he had forgotten it was still cuffed to the beam. 

The sudden flurry of activity sent Tony stumbling back and he had to grab Happy’s arm to avoid tripping. 

“Whoa, easy, kid! Easy!” Happy tried calming the boy but Peter either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. 

Tony had to fight the urge to go to him. Instead he did the opposite - he backed up, dragging Happy with him. “Pete, that wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!”

Peter continued to struggle, making small pained noises and grunting as he stretched his arm out as far as it would go as though it were a leash rather than a limb. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Peter! Look, we’re backing off- we’re backing off.” 

The boy’s bad leg gave out from under him and he slumped to his knees once more, already exhausted. He tried clawing at the cuff with his other hand. His fingers were shaking, clumsy, and weak, and within seconds his arm fell to his lap in defeat. 

“You’re okay,” Tony said in the slowest and most soothing voice he could manage while his own heartbeat was hammering wildly in his chest. “I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? That wasn’t me.”

Peter’s eyes anchored to him, bright with unbridled fear and distrust. He was breathing so fast it was bound to make him lightheaded - if he wasn’t already - and even on his knees he was pulled as far away from them as he could go. Tony’s gaze flickered involuntarily to the deep gash across his mentee’s cheekbone, blood trailing all the way down to his jaw - cut open by Ironman’s fist in that initial strike. 

_ That wasn’t Ironman _ , Tony had to remind himself. He met Peter’s eyes again. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he repeated slowly. “Okay? I promise. That was an empty suit, Pete. It wasn’t me.”

Peter’s gaze hardened, his eyebrows dropping low. 

Happy’s phone buzzed and the light wavered as he tilted it to see the screen. There was enough ambient light filtering down from above to see by but Tony still heard a sharp inhale from Peter as the room dimmed. He quickly tapped his watch and set it to emit a soft glow, easier on the eyes than the harsh phone flashlight. 

“I’m gonna put this down between us, okay?” he said, stepping forward carefully. Peter tensed, watching Tony’s every movement like his life depended on it, and with an aching heart Tony realized that the boy truly believed it did. 

He made it about two meters before Peter shifted backwards. “Okay, here is good,” he said, placing the watch on a rock next to him. Not wanting to lose ground but also not willing to frighten Peter further, Tony hovered for a moment and then sat down on the ground - cross-legged, non-threatening, on Peter’s level. 

“SHIELD medical is here,” Happy said quietly, shifting on his feet and glancing uncertainly toward Peter. “They’re outside. And Fury posted agents around the perimeter-“

Peter’s face - what they could see of it under the dirt and blood - instantly went pale and his breathing began to speed up again. 

“ _ -just _ to keep out the police, kid,” Happy quickly amended. “Just to keep people out.”

Tony couldn’t help a quick flash of anger toward Happy for saying that in front of Peter but it faded again when he realized it would only make them appear more suspicious if they whispered or shared screens without telling Peter what was going on. His enhanced hearing would likely have picked up on their whispers anyway. 

“Tell everyone to stay downstairs,” Tony said. “Stay outside, we’ll come to them when we’re ready.” Though Peter’s injuries clearly needed attention as soon as possible, none of them appeared to be life-threatening at the moment. 

That’s when it really sank in that Peter was alive. Relief flooded Tony so suddenly that he sagged, elbows resting on his knees and face planted in his hands. 

“God. I’m so glad you’re alive,” he murmured into his hands. “Okay, let me explain.” 

“No.” Peter’s voice was hoarse and gravelly and Tony looked up, for whatever reason surprised to hear him speak. “Take-” his next word was cut off by a cough, followed by another, and Peter winced, hand going up to his neck. 

“Okay, just take it easy,” Tony said calmly, though inside he was churning with worry and heartbreak. 

“Take this off,” Peter choked out as soon as he was able to draw in enough air, reaching up to the handcuff once more in a futile attempt to open it. “Tell Friday to unlock it.”

Tony’s chest tightened in regret. “Friday… Friday is offline right now, Pete. I can open it, but I have to do it manually. It needs my thumbprint.”

Peter dropped his gaze to Tony and again his eyes turned to stone. And Tony hated it. It made his heart drop to his stomach and his stomach to drop to his feet. It laid heavy on his shoulders and made him want to avert his eyes in guilt. 

He knew it wasn’t him that hurt Peter this badly. He knew that. But he had watched it happen through his own suit's eyes. He had heard himself speak the words, and he was beginning to have a hard time convincing his mind that it wasn’t him. 

But he wasn’t free of guilt, not by a long shot. His arrogance caused this. His overconfidence in assuming no one would be able to hack into his suit and his AI. He should have been running tests constantly. He should have checked more thoroughly and more often. Because clearly he had made a huge oversight somewhere. It didn’t matter to him how intelligent these people were, or how skilled they were. He needed to be better. He  _ should _ have been better. 

But that was just the technical side. Well-deserved blame, to be sure, but that wasn’t what was truly crushing him. What was truly crushing him was how badly he’d failed as a mentor and father-figure. Because Tony could no longer deny that he was a father-figure to Peter. And he no longer denied that Peter was like a son to him. He couldn’t pretend to ignore it, not after this. 

And by simply continuing to indulge the side of him that shied away from exposing his heart, he had allowed someone to twist their relationship into something painful. To hurt Peter in the worst possible way, and so easily. 

The instinct to lock himself behind a wall of nonchalance and superficial humor was not an easy thing for Tony to overcome. It was ingrained in his very fiber, a defense mechanism learned at an early age. Longing for a loving relationship with his father, he had grown up instead under one that was cold and distant. 

But Peter - Peter had had that kind of relationship with his Uncle, from what Tony had learned. Yet it was torn away from him, far too recently, and he was now a kid lost. Missing that role in his life and not yet knowing how to live without it. 

It was no wonder Peter had gravitated towards him from the moment they met. 

Tony drew in a deep breath and let it loose again, hoping it might ease some of the tight ache in his chest as he stared into Peter’s wounded eyes. 

He was in so far over his head. 

“I know you have good reason not to trust me right now,” he started hesitantly, then cleared his throat. “ _ Really _ good reason. But please just listen. That suit was being controlled by someone else. I don’t know who, not yet, but they somehow hacked into Friday and were able to manipulate the suit remotely.”

Peter’s expression didn’t change and Tony floundered a bit.

“They wanted… they were typing on the screen. They wanted to hurt both of us. And the suit… they wanted the suit but to hurt us too. One of them knew me and one of them knew you. Sounded like.”

Peter let out a little breath of disbelief. “You were talking. That was  _ you _ talking, it was you.” His voice strained and cracked like he had a bad case of laryngitis. 

“It wasn’t, it wasn’t me. I mean it was- it was my voice, yes, but I wasn’t saying those things. They were using a voice replication program.” It sounded so contrived even to his own ears, even knowing it was the truth. He leaned forward and put his hands flat on the dirt-covered floor, staring hard into Peter’s eyes. “Peter, I would never,  _ never _ say those things to you.” 

Something like hope flickered in the boy’s eyes, a split second of longing, but then it was gone again and his brow furrowed. “How do you expect me to believe it was someone else? I’m not stupid. No one else would know about the things you talked about.”

“Like what, like... like how it-”

“Like when you said you regret ever contacting me,” Peter said, and that time Tony wasn’t sure the break in his voice was because of his injury. 

“That’s an easy conclusion for someone to come to,” Tony replied. “You mean the fact that I contacted you and not the other way around? Think about it kid, I get people trying to get in touch with me daily, people I’ve never met and never care to. If I start up a relationship with someone new, someone who - no offense - is kind of a ‘common folk’ type, it’s only gonna be because I initiated it.”

Peter shifted, carefully trying to get his wounded leg out from under him, and gave a low groan when he accidentally put weight on his wrist. 

Tony glanced up to the metal beam over Peter’s head, to the handcuff he made himself. “I really want to get you out of that, Pete. Can you just let me unlock it? Then I’ll come right back over here and we can keep talking.”

Peter didn’t answer right away, but Tony saw his fingers twitch ever so slightly. He looked beyond tired, ready to collapse, like he was keeping himself upright and conscious through sheer force of will. 

Tony took the lack of negative response as a tentative ‘okay’ and carefully got up. Peter’s eyes widened. 

“Think about this - if I really wanted to kill you I would have walked right up and done it as soon as I got here. Right?” Tony said with a small, hopeful shrug. “And I definitely wouldn’t have gotten out of the suit.”

Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek, eyebrows pulling together. As Tony started his slow approach, he was reminded of a video he’d seen a few weeks back of a baby deer that had gotten stuck in a metal fence. A couple hikers came across it, but whenever they tried to get close enough to help it, it would just cry and flail and hurt itself in an attempt to run away. 

He couldn’t remember how they got the fawn out, but he suddenly had a new appreciation for the hikers’ dilemma of wanting to approach and retreat at the same time. 

Peter slid one knee up and planted his foot like he was about to run a race. His eyes darted surreptitiously about the room. 

“Please don’t run away when I take it off,” Tony said warily, realizing that the boy was looking for exits. He was just a few meters away from him now. “How about this, though. Just so you know we’re not trying to corner you - that broken wall to your left, there’s a door right behind it. It’ll take you to a hallway and if you turn right from there, it’ll take you to the stairwell. But for the love of God please don’t take it. Please stay.”

“No one has eyes on the suit yet, boss,” Happy informed behind him. Tony had forgotten his friend was even still there. “None of Fury’s guys have seen it anywhere near the building but it’s still out there somewhere, so - yeah, kid, stay here.” 

Tony didn’t know if Peter was capable of running. He wasn’t even sure he was capable of standing. 

“And listen, even in the shape you’re in, you could still beat Tony’s ass without his suit. He’s just a fleshbag like the rest of us right now.” 

“Hey.” Tony glared at the man briefly over his shoulder. He certainly wasn’t helpless, and Peter was in bad, bad shape. But - “He’s right, though,” he said, turning back to Peter. “So here’s what we’ll do. I’ll unlock the cuff and then I’ll go stand over there so you’re in between me and the door, okay? Happy, go stand over there. And you’ll stay, and we’ll keep talking, and… everything will be okay. Okay?”

Peter’s whole body was as tight as a bow-string, his eyes focused somewhere near Tony’s chest. Ready to bolt. For a very brief moment, as Tony was reaching toward the cuff, he considered not letting him go.  _ Making _ him stay where he was safe, where Tony could help him and the medical team could tend to him. Making him listen. 

He could smell Peter’s blood. There was more of it than he realized, now that he was so close. He smelled the singed and burned-away suit over his shoulder and arm, saw up close the blisters and red, oozing skin. He saw the throw up on the ground. He saw the tear tracks cutting through the smudges of dirt and blood on his young face. How red and raw his eyes were. How much he was shaking. 

Tony’s outstretched hand itched to land carefully on the boy’s head of sweaty and dusty curls. To initiate positive contact, any sort of small comforting touch. But with a hard swallow and regretful heart, he abstained. Instead he pressed his thumb into the side of the cuff and sent up a silent prayer as it popped open. 

  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for how long it's been since the last post. I've had some issues mentally and medically and ended up having surgery (nothing major!) so my mind has been elsewhere for a while. And forgive me for it being so short! There will be one more chapter after this, but I have been sitting here right at this part and haven't been able to get the rest out for whatever reason, despite knowing how it's going to go. But I'm posting what I have!

Peter’s mind stuttered and raced as Tony reached towards him, thoughts overlapping and overriding each other. He bounced between panic, suspicion, hurt, and hope, and was left paralyzed. 

Tony had just tried to kill him. Hadn’t he? He had beaten and broken him and now was standing over him again... but the man with him now was acting completely different than—

The handcuff clicked open and instinct kicked in. He felt Tony briefly hold his arm to ease its descent, but Peter quickly darted out from under him. The torn muscles in his shoulder screamed at the sudden drop and his leg lit up with burning pain when he put weight on it, but he still made it to the doorway in seconds and put his back against the wall right next to it. He knew he was fooling himself if he thought it would make any difference how close to the exit he was; if he actually tried to run away he probably wouldn’t even make it to the stairwell. 

Even the several yards from the beam to the wall took its toll. His mind floated and for a moment he thought Tony had turned off his watch light, but then felt himself begin to slide down the wall and realized that it was just his vision going dark. He battled fiercely with his body’s attempt at shutting down and braced his legs to keep himself upright. 

He raised his burned arm out to stop Tony, subconsciously knowing that the man was going to rush forward to help him, and waited. Slowly his vision came back, revealing the softly-lit crumbled room again, and sure enough Tony was closer to him than he was before, his eyes wide with concern. 

Yes, this Tony was different. This Tony was like the one he was used to, the one he had known up until today. But —

“You asked what I did to deserve the suit you made me. Up on the roof,” Peter challenged, lowering his arm again. The pain in his throat flared with every word, but he forced them out anyway. “What enemy would know where I got my suit?”

Tony’s expression settled somewhat, his alarm now colored with relief that Peter had stopped just next to the door instead of running through it. 

“I’ve designed lots of gear for the team, kid, that’s no secret to anyone. And your suit is one of the most high-tech of the bunch. It would make sense that it came from me.”

Peter’s eyes moved past Tony to Happy, who quickly nodded in agreement. Where Tony’s posture was rigid, afraid to make any sudden movements, Happy seemed restless and antsy. Like he wanted to be doing something but he didn’t know what. 

Peter wasn’t sure where to place Happy in all of this but made no attempt to try and figure it out. He barely had the energy and cognizance to logic his way through Tony as it was - all while trying to breathe through the pain, keep himself awake, and resist that part of him that was continually shouting for him to get out. To stop being an idiot for even entertaining this conversation. 

But there was another part of him that knew he needed to keep listening, a part of him that  _ wanted  _ to be convinced that this was the real Tony. He wanted so badly to believe that the relationship he had grown with his mentor was real, that Tony truly cared about him. That Peter really had been worthy of his time and attention all along. 

Yet another part of him simply wanted to give up - to slump to the ground and pass out and let whatever would happen happen. The building was surrounded anyway, if Happy was telling the truth. Peter had very little say over what happened to him at this point. 

“You never saw a face, right?” Tony said. “I always show you my face. Remember the ferry? I was pretty livid then too, but I got out of the suit to talk to you.”

The moon was growing brighter above them, pale bluish light filtering down and accentuating the worry lines on Tony’s face. 

A small shiver ran through Peter’s body. The air was cooling and the surge of adrenaline that had coursed through him upon waking was beginning to fade. He slouched, exhaustion pulling at him and dulling his already jumbled thoughts. His only good leg began to tremble from the strain of holding his weight up against the wall.

“Peter. Look at me.” 

Peter looked up and was momentarily taken aback by the sincerity in Tony’s eyes. 

“Kid, you  _ know _ me. Okay? You said so yourself on the roof. You said I would never hit you and you were absolutely one hundred percent right.  _ More _ than a hundred percent. Never in a  _ million _ years would I hit you.” His brow furrowed as though the mere thought disturbed him. 

The little embers of hope that had been simmering quietly in Peter’s heart flickered but he kept them carefully in check. Though he was caring less and less about all the little discrepancies he was probably missing, there was one major thing that he just couldn’t get past. 

“Mr. Stark,” he began, swallowing to try and soothe the painful cracking of his voice, “there should only be five people who know my real name.”

Tony immediately dropped his head.

“Toomes, May, Ned, Happy, and you.”

Tony was nodding before Peter even finished speaking, and rubbed a hand roughly over his forehead.

“I know,” he said. “I know, that’s my fault. They could hear everything I said, and- I just, I forgot. I wasn’t thinking and I said your name out loud.” He shook his head, pure sincerity once more radiating so freely from him that Peter felt his inhibitions begin to crumble. “I’m so sorry, kid. I was so distracted... I was watching everything as it happened and tried not to lose it, but... when you’re watching something like that play out and know you can’t do anything about it, you can’t help but lose it a little. Or in my case, a lot.” 

Peter just stared, unsure of what to say. His mind kept stumbling through the conversation on the roof, picking through the parts he could remember and looking for reasons to keep his heart guarded. He felt too vulnerable. But as the seconds ticked by and Tony looked more and more crestfallen at his lack of response, Peter found belief and acceptance begin to wash his fright away. 

Before he could figure out what to say, Tony cleared his throat and cast his eyes downward. “Look, I’m not… I’ve never really done this mentoring thing before. I’m used to dealing with adults. And with adults I can- well, I can get away with not… expressing… you know. Wow, that’s- that’s really not a great excuse now that I hear it.”

Peter softened as the man stumbled his way through territory he clearly wasn’t used to or even comfortable with. 

“Turns out mentoring is real easy to screw up. Maybe it’s easier for people who are actually cut out for it, but I’m… clearly not.”

“Yes you are.” The words left Peter easily and with more confidence than he thought he was capable of in his current state. Tony, who had been shifting back and forth as he spoke, went still. “You are. You’re a good mentor.”

The distant sounds of the city were all that could be heard as Tony searched Peter’s eyes, looking to confirm the implication behind his words. 

“Yeah?” the man finally said - tentatively, hopefully. 

Peter nodded, and was about to say more when a new voice burst out of Tony’s watch and made all three of them jump.

_ “Tones!” _

Rhodey. 

_ “I’ve got eyes on it. Followed it all the way to Jersey, it’s just lying in some field out here. Looks like it went dead and dropped out of the sky. ” _

“Don’t approach it,” Tony said, going quickly to pick up the watch from where it was still resting on a nearby rock. 

_ “Not approaching.” _

Tony wrapped the watch band back around his wrist and with just a few taps to its surface brought up a hologram above it. It took Peter a few seconds to realize that what they were looking at was a projection of the view through War Machine’s eyes. 

It wasn’t exactly a steady or clear view, with him hovering high in the air and with the nature of the hologram. But Rhodey zoomed in on the wheat field below him and in the pale light of the nearly-full moon they could see a long tear in the earth, at the end of which was the Ironman armor. 

It looked like a completely different suit. The one on the roof was full of life in the worst way - mean and merciless, in constant motion. Saying horrible things with Tony’s voice and using his movements. 

The suit they were looking at now was just… dead. Empty. Limbs askew and eyes devoid of their trademark blue glow. The moonlight that glinted off it’s surface made it look almost more silver than gold. Peter fixed the image in his mind, telling himself that  _ this _ was what he had truly been dealing with on the roof. Not Tony. Just an empty, dead suit being animated by people who wanted to see them suffer. 

“Shoot it,” Tony ordered, glancing at Peter as though to make sure he was watching. 

_ “It’s already down.” _

“I know, wreck it. Blow it up. Send everything you’ve got, I want to see it in pieces.”

Peter’s eyes widened. He wanted to  _ destroy _ his own suit? It didn’t seem to be under anyone’s control anymore, surely it could be brought back and fixed?

Missiles shot out from War Machine’s shoulders, leaving a trail of sparks as they arced downward like fireworks on steroids. Explosions lit up the wheat field as they impacted the suit, bright enough that it briefly whited-out their view through the hologram. He sent off another round before the cloud of smoke had even begun to dissipate. 

When the air began to clear again Rhodey lowered himself to get a better view. It was nearly impossible for Peter to make out, but from what he could see there was only one limb still attached to the suit’s torso. 

“Keep going,” Tony said. His eyebrows were lowered in concentration and what just might have been anger, as though he wished to be there destroying it himself. 

That was billions of dollars that was being blown apart on his order. His primary means of personal defense, the suit that made him who he was. All because of what it had done to Peter.

Suddenly Peter was overwhelmed by emotion, by a compulsory need to… he didn’t know. He needed something, he needed many somethings and they were all bubbling up within him too fast for him to handle. 

He needed-- he needed to apologize. He needed to tell Tony that it was okay. He needed reassurance. He needed the pulsing pain in his wrists, his arm, his neck, his  _ everything _ to stop. He needed to allow Tony to take over and help him. He needed to be hugged. He needed to let his body pass out as it was once again trying its best to do. He needed to process everything that happened, but he was too overwhelmed— he needed—

“Hey. Hey, Pete,” Tony drew his attention gently, his voice soft but filled with concern. 

When Peter tried to draw in a deep breath it hitched and broke into pieces, and he realized there were tears once more warming his eyes. Dark spots began to obscure his vision and he tried to clear them with blinks. 

“Help,” he whispered. Despite his struggles against it, his body seemed to finally recognize that it was safe and was taking matters into its own hands. He began to tip toward the ground but then Tony rushed close and strong hands caught him under his arms, lowering him gently down.

“Okay, kid, okay. Hang in there - Happy, get medical up here ASAP. Peter?”

He wanted to answer and clung to consciousness as much as he could, but his eyes slid closed on their own and his limbs wouldn’t cooperate, going boneless like a doll. He felt himself being shifted, but instead of being laid down on the ground, one of Tony’s hands slid carefully under his arm and across his back. Another cradled the back of his head and he was pulled in and held against the man’s chest. 

Everything was dark and quiet and finally Peter gave up, drifting off to the feeling of Tony’s fingers in his hair, clutching him like he was the most precious thing he had ever held. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. Thank you for reading! Let me know your thoughts, I love feedback! Kudos and comments butter my bread. I'll get the next part up as soon as I can!
> 
> Much love to you! (yes, you) <3


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